Changing the Tiger's Stripes
by AnonRecon
Summary: (AU) A single flap of a butterfly's wings can tear up all that ever was or ever will be.


Shadows cast from high above onto the floor made every sliver of light seem like a sun all on its own. Everything under them was illuminated and nothing more beautifully than the jungle flowers of which they were after. In the thick of the brush during mid day, the task was made easy simply because of this. Two children shuffled cautiously through the lush, lively jungle. Though it had been their home their entire lives, they would always show prudence respect the inhabitants as they had been raised to by their people. The elder of the two, a young boy no older than fourteen, lead his younger sister down a path he'd gone in and marked the day before. He'd simply made small, harmless marks on trees and slit vines to do so as to not disturb the 'aura.' Their father had told stories of the jungle having a life of its own, one who's very soul reached out from every living thing, even them. He called it the jungle's aura and said that they should try their best not to disturb it too much or else it could cause the jungle pain and kill part of its soul. He spoke many times of great masses in the west where the land had lost its soul and was slowly dying under the weight of man and had showed his children pictures left by westerners of said places. The boy had known that his father despised such places, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder when presented with them.

All that aside, the children carried on through the trail towards a meadow bursting with spring flowers. They needed only a few arm-fulls of said plants for a ceremony being held by their tribe. Finally, after a grueling, slow hike, they broke the treeline and found the meadow untouched. Among the vibrant flowers of reds, blues, and yellows that nested into the grass, there was a heard of buffalo traversing the plane, strong adults surrounding the young calves who bounded and mewed within the protection on their parents. Farther up the hill, deer leaped into view, vanishing beyond the incline before bounding up again in elegant arcs. To an outsider, it may have seemed magnificent, worth capturing on film or canvas, but, to them, it was all a part of life. They ignored the creatures, giving them space as they collected the flowers. The boy grabbed hand-fulls of blues and yellows while the girl plucked as many of the red ones as she could carry. They'd need more reds than any other color. It was the holy color, the color of blood and the color of the gods. Once they thought they had enough, they pressed through the threshold of the jungle into the darkness once more. Again, the boy lead. He weaved among trees and bushes, stopping to check the ground where he laid his bare feet often. The earth was always moist and soft, a pleasing texture for him, though the mud would always coat his legs and clothes which sent his mother into a rage. For this reason, and the possibility of dangerous insects and serpents, the boy watched himself and kept a keen ear out.

His sister followed, arms coiled gently around her flowers and eyes fixed on her brother. Suddenly, though, the boy stopped. She stopped as well and almost dropped a few of her flowers as she looked around. She, too, had been watching and listening, but could not fathom why the other had stopped so suddenly. "What is it?" she finally whispered in her native tongue, unable to sense what her brother had been sensing. The boy mirrored a 'hush' with his lips and continued to stand frozen. There was nothing but the sounds of the jungle, insects chirping and birds of paradise squawking from the canopy. Slowly, the boy turned around and whispered back to her.

"Stay quiet and follow me." They turned off of the path and into a thicker part of the brush. The boy lead them deeper into the jungle, but not anywhere unfamiliar. They weren't far from their home and were very well acquainted with the surrounding area. They walked that way for some time before the boy stopped again. This time, the girl DID hear something. She heard a shuffle in the bush to their right and slid closer to her brother out of fright. It was large and took heavy, deliberate steps, but it wasn't a tiger or buffalo. Counting the steps, the girl deduced that it walked on two feet.

"It's a warrior patrolling," she groaned at the other. The boy suddenly dropped his flowers and clasped a hand over his sister's mouth, causing her to drop hers as well. He leaned into her ear.

"No it's not." The foot fall stopped and silence reined. The birds did not speak. The bugs did not speak. The wind was silent as death. Then the foot-fall started again, moving faster and towards the children. The boy grabbed his sister's arm and lowered her into the brush, down into the mud. They laid on their stomachs looking up through a gap in the leaves. The foot-fall grew closer, still heavy and, to the boy, unfamiliar. Then, when it seemed to have been right in front of their noses, it stopped. The boy could smell something putrid, something rotten like the corpse of a deer left out by a tiger. It made him intentionally clog his nose. No sooner than he'd done so, the thin sheen of metal swung right past his eyes, cutting away the leaves of a bush. Both children rolled onto their backs with sharp shrieks as the barrel of a gun stared them both in the eyes. Before them stood a tall, dark-skinned man in clothes entirely unfamiliar. His torso was wrapped in thick armor, accented by yellow cloth. One of which was wrapped around his head. The man's eyes bore down at them from the sight of the gun and stayed there for only a moment before the barrel lowered. The man laughed and slung the weapon around his back.

"Kids," he scoffed. "English? Habla ingles?" Both children were stunned, staring up at him with wide eyes, oozing with fear. "Do you speak english?" he barked, louder than before. Knocked from his trance, the boy nodded quickly. "Good. Good... You from the local tribe?" Again, the boy nodded, his sister clinging to his right arm. "Also good... You know, I've been looking for one of your tribesmen, but this'll do just fine." The man shot out a massive, gloved hand and yanked up the girl but the shoulder. She instantly thrashed, holding her brother with her one free arm. The boy flung himself at the man, slamming his fists and feet into his legs fruitlessly before being flung off as though he were a mere insect. He gave no heed to the man's strength, however, and was on him again, screaming and pulling on the powerful arm that held onto the girl, which showed no signs of letting go.

"Help!" he screamed at the top his his lungs, voice breaking in fear and desperality. "Hel-" he was silenced with one swift trike, a slash of metal against the flesh of his skull. The pain dug deep, his vision going white as he tumbled to the ground. His back landed in the mud and he lay sprawled there, unable to move or comprehend what had just happened. All he could do was listen as the sounds of running, both growing nearer and vanishing, danced around him. Clearly above them was his sister's voice, a screaming so violent and wracked with terror that it made him shudder and even worse so when she called his name.

"Vaas!"


End file.
